Blood of a Raven
by Raven6224
Summary: (Sequel to "Daughter of Mischief") As the best friend of Panic Stark, daughter of genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, Tony Stark, Raven knows all danger. Hell, she's lived through her fair share of battles on the front line. When she's warned by her mother that the world will face absolute annihilation, it's up to Raven to prevent disaster as Panic's out of commission.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One: A Sweet Disaster_

 ** _I've gotten a lot of comments about writing another story for Raven but this time she won't be in Asgard, this is between the end of "Pandora's Panic Box" and before the first chapter of "Hit the Panic Button" to give you a vague idea of the time space. For how long this series will be, I don't know. I'll let you readers decide, I could do another mini-story like before or a full series like Panic's but I'll need to plan a few things out to do so. Be sure to favorite and comment below if you like it and Panic will appear more in this than the last one._**

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Panic has been... off lately. I suppose that is the most appropriate way to state that she has been far too anti-social for someone such as herself. For as long as I have known her, she's always been a fairly social butterfly who draws people around in droves as he charisma is so endearing. Panic never forgot who her real friends are and always goes out of her way to make sure everybody knows who they, we are.

I have spoken with Oliver about my concerns but he simply brushed them off saying: "Hey I'd like to know too, but you know her better than I do. Panic doesn't like people pressing her for information. It'd be best if we let her cool off and come to us when she's ready."

While normally I would agree with that statement, after what happened at the HYDRA Laboratories in Dover, Delaware. I do not know what transpired behind that door, but I remember her stumbling from the room wearing a heavy black jacket that was far to big to be her's. It was Mr. Stark's and she had her hands hidden within the deep sleeves, but her covered arms were wrapped tightly around her father's waist while he rubbed her shoulder soothingly.

She look rabid, feral. Like a wild animal that has been trapped and isolated away from society for a very long time. Her body shook like she was freezing and her green eyes remained open and wide. She did not dare to blink as though she was afraid she would miss something if she did. Her red hair was messy and tangled, especially around the ends from what I assume was close-quarters combat.

Pepper followed shortly after Panic and Mr. Stark with baby Toby wrapped up snugly in his blue blanket, but the red stains flecking the fabric caught my eye. Blood, that is obviously what it is, but whose. Not Panic's, at least I assumed it was not and it turns out that my assumption had be accurate. The blood was that of the woman, Ms. Emersyn Pierce who had plastic surgery to resemble Panic's deceased mother.

It was her blood that found it way onto baby Toby's blanket, transferred from Panic's crimson stained fingers. Her mental state was shattered, that much I could tell for sure and while now I know she has begun to mend herself back together, I am starting to worry how she will be doing so. A bad feeling is swirling in my gut and somehow I know it is not going to be good.

I have known Panic for a very long time now, unfortunately she is much like her father, she will spiral down into a void of emptiness rather than seeking the help she so desperately will be requiring. My hope that she would not start down the path of darkness is a faint flickering light in the distance for even I know that for as smart as she is, Panic is no saint and will do what she must to dull the aching within her soul.

My only hope is that I will be of some use to help ease her troubled soul. She is in peril, I can feel it deep within my heart. Panic needs someone, not just anyone, but her father and she would not dare admit that allowed.

Dropping my head against my desk, I sigh most unprofessionally. I am stressed. My mind torn between my homework and the well-being of my best friend. Algebraic equations look like alphabet soup to me, it's no use. I cannot focus at this time, maybe not ever if I am not positive of Panic's well being. Rising to my feet, I am stopped by my mother on my way out.

"Raven, my child. What troubles you?"

I cannot lie, so I answer her truthfully. "I am... concerned for Panic's mental health. She has not been the same since the incident and I fear that she will endanger herself should we all not keep a watchful eye on her."

Mother nods solemnly, her blond hair falling over her shoulder at the motion. "Yes, Panic has always hand many difficult challenges to face in her young life. Alas, she must come to terms with this on her own or she will never truly succeed in free herself of the torment that currently plagues her thoughts, heart, and even her soul that aches for relief. She must free herself Raven, you should know this better than anyone."

"I am well aware mother," I turn to face her calm eyes, a sparkle of light flickering deep within them. Her blond hair has been wound up in a messy bun at the back of her head. Dark purple rings circle under her eyes, like she has not been able to get much sleep in the last few weeks. My mother may be human, but it seems that she has a sort of gift of her own.

She gets flashes of the future through her dreams; most are inconsequential, nothing horrific yet nothing of major excitement. However, the rare occasions that she does awake from slumber with nightmares, she has had a nightmare. A dream of mass distinction facing the world at large, she knows I know yet she has not told me what she has seen through her dreams.

There is a haunted expression hidden in her almost soothing features, this was my mother. Composed and never one to let her guard down, especially not after what happened with my father. A week before he had even come to Earth with his army of Chitari soldiers, Mother was fretful in sleep. Shifting from one side to another, eyes squeezed tightly shut in horror. She mumbled about the destruction, when a scream ripped from her lungs.

I was merely a child this, just barely thirteen with no idea what was wrong with my mother. She awoke, covered in cold sweats, eyes wide and wild. She has glanced about the room, darting to the window to look around at the California landscape. Like she was seeing something else entirely. It was the middle of the night, but when she finally tore herself away, she focused on me.

That's when she told me about her gift, or curse as she referred to it. I had thought it was an amazing skill to possess, I was not aware of my heritage at that time. Mother had not told me what I was. That my father was a madman god from Asgard, or I suppose Jotunheim as he is actually a Frost Giant, and that has was planning on conquering the planet we inhabited.

A part of me wonders what he would have done to Mother and me if he would have succeeded that day in New York. Would we have been spared of his tyrannical and dictatorship ideals, or would we be nothing but worthless pawns on a chess piece to him. Would our pathetic, measly Midgardian lives even matter to him? A part of me believes it ridiculous to think he would have cared, but after everything that happened on Asgard?

He has said, to me, that I was his favorite child. Me. It was my intention to keep him imprisoned in Odin's dungeon without the thought of freeing him from his confines ever entering my mind. However, I am now positive of what he would have done and I am ashamed to admit it, but I secretly hoped. In the depths of my soul I secretly hoped that if he would have won that he would have cared for us, I am pathetic to believe such foolish nonsense.

Mother's haunted eyes draw me out of my thoughts. I know I must ask her about it, but I do not want to pressure her.

"M-mother..." I say, hesitantly. As if saying one wrong word will spook her, make her clam up. "How bad is it?"

She sucks in a deep breath of air as she bracing a had on the door frame beside her. A dark look passes over her feature as she tries to figure out what to say as answers for my question. Her eyes meet mine.

"Total destruction of the planet."


	2. A Thousand Pieces

_Chapter Two: A Thousand Pieces_

 ** _Here we go, the second chapter of "Blood of a Raven" as I was thinking about the overall arc of Panic's universe, I think I'll have two more mini-stories focusing on Raven. This one will complete after about twelve chapters or so. There's still a lot to come in Panic's universe. Anyways, be sure to favorite and comment down below!  
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Thousands of sweaty bodies are pressed against each other, grinding in attempts of pleasure or to look sexually appealing. At least I suppose. Nightclubs have never been something that appealed to the likes of me. I would have rather stayed home with my blanket pulled up to my neck with a novel held in the palm of my hands, but this is where Panic's at and she is who I seek.

I push may way past all the drunkards and stumble through the crowd of dancing people, carefully avoiding those will alcohol held in their unstable fingers. The last thing I needs is to smell like an open bar. Panic's feelings are a jumbled mess, I can feel it in the depths of my stomach, she is wading through the mess that is her mind and there is not a thing I can do to aid her in her struggle. Mother is right, only Panic can help herself.

It is she who must let those who care for her well being in if she wishes to receive the warm hands of helping and begin the slow and painful process of healing. I cannot fathom what she must be going through. The psychological after effects of something as horrific as such must have left permanent scars on her mind, but she is a very strong person and if she wants to pull through, she will.

The question now is whether or not she want to heal herself, currently she is on a downward spiral into what she knows is absolute darkness. At this time she does not care about the after effects. Only the solution, to ease the pain in her heart. To silence the nightmares that plague her dreams. And most importantly, to free herself from the guilt that is consuming her soul like a wildfire in a dry forest in the summer heat.

Strobe lights flicker the room from one color to the next like a kaleidoscope of the rainbow. Making my way from the dance floor, that is when my gaze falls upon what has become of Panic. Her bright red hair is pulled up in a high pony tail, she wears a jean skirt that falls just above her knees, and black lace up wedges as she dances on top of a round table by the bar.

She has a beer bottle in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other. Panic giggles at something one of the large lumberjack sized men said, she shakes her hips seductively at him and winks. Something stirs in the pit of my stomach, something foul and almost angry at the way she is behaving. Anger at what she is letter herself become, Panic never would act like this, she did not flirt of tease with men.

Panic was an independent woman with a spitfire personality who would knock somebody into a new millennium for even implying something as such about her. This was something the struck a cord with me. Especially when she hopped off the table and crawled up to sit on his lap, rubbing against his crotch intimately against her own. I know Panic would not want to give her virginity to someone she did not care for.

I yank Panic to her feet the moment I arrive, dragging her behind me as my blood boils beneath my veins. Right or not, Mother will not stop me from knocking a few screws back into place in her head if she does not try to fix herself up. She is acting foolishly, like a wild child with no responsibilities and no concern for her own personal safety.

"Ay!" Panic yanks her hand free from my grip once we're outside the nightclub. "The hell'sssss your problem Rae. Can't a girl have a good time in the shit hole? Ain't gettin' no resssspect around here."

I noticed how Panic swayed uneasily on her feet as well as the way she slurred her words, most noticeably words with the letter 'S' in them. Needless to say, she was drunk and on the verge of passing out. Her brown eyes were glazed over with a sleepy tone, she was a bit more irritable than normal, but I was glad that she still called me by the nickname she had decided on so long ago.

Just as she is about to take another gulp of dark liquid from the round glass in her hand, I swipe it from her fingers and toss it against one of the buildings that has a brick side wall.

"I think you have had enough to drink Panic," I respond, crossing my arms at him. She narrows her eyes at me before resting a hand on her hip and jutting her body in a defiant stance.

"And I don't think that'ssssss for you to deccccide do you? Bessssides I can take care of myself, everything wassssss under control in there alright!" she shouts, stumbling forward a few steps. Soon the angry look in her eyes pass and a sad tone fills them. "O-oh, Raven, I'm ssssso, sooooo ssssssorry, can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me," she wraps her arms around my waist.

I blink twice as she clings desperately too me, as though the moment she lets go, she'll be destroyed in a mass of flames. Slowly, I reach my hands up and hug her back as she sobs into my shoulder. I feel the warm tears seeping through my shirt, it is at this moment when I realize just how much Panic is truly facing every waking morning, not that she will remember this.

Using my powers, I teleport both of us into Panic's bedroom. Taking her hand, I guide her over to the bed and lay her down on her side, pulling out a mini trash can with a trash bag in it. She will need this, but then I look at her in table beside her bed and wave my hand over it. Two advils appear along with a large glass of water to drink it down with.

Panic is certainly in her own peril, but I cannot change the world just as I cannot change her choices. Panic must save herself and though I know this well, that does not mean that I have to like it. Walking to the window in Panic's bedroom, I look out over New York City and take in the beautiful lights that illuminate the city around us, the way it looks from afar.

Suddenly, someone running on the street catches my attention, it is a man dressed in all black with a briefcase at his side as he hurries through a crowd of people. He darts through the traffic and hordes of cars until he disappears down a flight of concrete stairs that lead into an underground room. I know he was up to no good, I can see a small piece of a HYDRA tattoo peaking beneath the collar of his turtleneck.


End file.
